The Universe's Mixer

It was her last day on this so-called 'vacation' -- and if she'd had any sense at all about how she'd asked for the time off, she'd have arranged for tomorrow to be counted within her allotment of vacation as well. It was her 20th birthday, though no one in the City knew it. Then again, Beauty could think of no other way she'd rather spend her birthday than at work, surrounded with the heady scent of old pages and book glue and brewed coffee.

But today -- today was her last free day, and she wanted to spend it in celebration. That's why she'd brought out a large, thick blanket into the City Commons, along with a basket full of fruit, cheese, croissant, and red wine, and finally a very large umbrella. (The umbrella hadn't been her idea, but it'd appeared for her at the door when she went back for her stack of books. With a word of thanks to the air above her, she'd snagged the whole entire thing and stuck the over-large umbrella into the ground right at the place where she was now sprawled, grapes in one hand, half-finished book in the other.

Lounging in the park, reading a book, munching leisurely on grapes -- Beauty was oblivious to everything around her.

Keeping busy agreed with Dinah. So did... whatever it was that she had started with Dean. She still had her rough days where the loss of Jake would hit her all over again, but it was no longer every single day.

She had pretty much thrown herself into crime fighting and the shop and trying to make sure that her roommate didn't rip out his stitches. She was trying to take care of him as much as he'd let her at least.

Today, she was busy with the shop. There weren't many customers, which meant that she had time to catch up on the books. She sat behind the counter, poring over the daily numbers and the ledgers.

This might not be her favorite part of owning a flower shop, but it was a release in itself. It was hard to think about much else when one was engrossed in the math required in bookkeeping. All the same, she still had her ears open for the bell that might tinkle to let her know that a customer had entered the store.

It was nice to have a moment to relax. Working and interning under Dr Brennan took much of his time. But he was in no way upset about that. Hannibal very much enjoyed being busy and having his mind stimulated so consistently. Brennan was a very good teacher, she held nothing back, and gave as much information at once as she thought he could handle. He only hoped that she was enjoying their time together as much as he was.

Still, sitting and watching the world go by gave him time to think of other things. To consider life and the things he had learned recently. To run through his lessons, to relive the moments outside of the wall. And to give attention to the lives going on outside of his own.

After all these years, the City still managed to surprise him. Throw new things in his direction, and he was glad for that. He never had a chance to be bored, or to have to seek out his own entertainment. Hannibal lived a very satisfying life here. He wondered how many others could say the same thing.

There was a full tea service in front of him. The coffee shop he was sitting in wasn't exactly a high class venue, but he had asked if they had this kind of thing, and they had said yes. Hannibal wondered if it was there because the City had known he was in the mood for it, or if it was there because it was there. Either way, he was quite pleased. The tray held a full pot of hot water, a silver box of assorted teas, steepers, small spoons, sugar, cream, and a small plate of biscuits. The other cups had gone untouched, and really it was a lot for one man, but that took none of the pleasure out for him.

There was calm in the bar. But not the kind of calm that says everybody is having a good time, and everyone is going to leave happy. It was the kind of peace that only comes before a big storm. Where every moment that goes by without words or laughter just makes everyone more tense. The only sounds that could be heard were the scraping of chairs across the floor and drinks being put down. The music in the background was loud, but it seemed to be faded out. As if it were a soundtrack being played over the top instead of coming from the jukebox.

People had been ill at ease lately. The City not moving, then suddenly starting again. The citizens were confused, they were ready to break.

All it took was one guy lightly bumping into another as he tried to get by, a drink spilling a small drop onto a shoe. Then the shouting match started. Soon, almost everyone in the bar was on their feet, taking sides, even if they had no personal quarrel. The noise became great, then. People turning to the person closest to them to start their own fight over more little slights that wouldn't have gotten more than a harsh look on any other day.

Nobody could have said later who did it. Who threw the first punch. But it happened.

Then, chaos.

( notes )

Fresh from her makeover with Pixie at the helm, Beauty bounded up to the door of the mansion she knew was Charlie's. And Ted's. And the Horse's! Her hair was streaked with pastel multicolors that managed not to clash with the wispy bit of pink and pattern that she liked the most of all the dresses she and her friend selected together. She wasn't completely sure of herself in this new look, but she was determined to try it. She lifted her hand and knocked, pleased with the jangling chiming sound the movement produced. Thin silver, bronze, black and gold bracelets settled back down against the delicate bones of her wrist when she dropped her hand again.

On that arm also hung a basket filled with fruit and croissants. Some of it was for Horse. Some of it was for her and Charlie (and Ted, if he happened to be a fruit eater...or croissant eater). The other arm was occupied with hugging Ted's stickered laptop against her side. She shifted her weight in the chunky platform heels she wore, then stared down at her toes. They'd been painted a candy pink. Wriggling her toes again, she speculated just how women had started the practice of painting their toenails. She would have laughed at the notion, back in Paris.

Then again, she'd never heard of bronzer before, either. Beauty sucked in her cheeks, wrinkled her nose, and stared at the door expectantly. Her lips felt sticky and heavy from the almost-clear, pinky gloss. The test, she thought, was how other people would react to what she looked like. If no one gasped, she was going to count it as a success.

Beauty realized she was a little nervous about how Ted and Charlie would react to her new look, under the buzzy excitement she'd felt with Megan. She shifted her weight again. Lifted a foot. Set it down carefully again. Platform shoes. She was getting used to them.

Until Thomas, she'd always hoped that she'd be able to find a way back home. She'd been taken away from her family, from her life... and she never had believed or accepted that it was a one-way trip. But Thomas changed things. Beauty hadn't known that she was needed here. She hadn't known that a City could be a friend. And she hadn't known just how hesitant she'd be to leave certain people she'd met since being pulled into this City. For better or worse, Thomas had made Beauty realize that she was home, now.

And a glance into a reflective store window made her realize that she didn't dress quite the same way as everyone else in the City -- even when the City was forcing her to wear certain things at times (and now she wondered if it wasn't simply looking out for her...).

"Hmm," she said, fidgeting with the long ponytail she'd tied up in a ribbon. A second later, she'd pulled the ribbon out and instead tied the ribbon around her throat. Still, no good. Off it came. She tried on her wrist, next. That was... a little better. And then there was her dress. She eyed it critically. White muslin, blue flowers, long sleeves, long skirt, high collar, a touch of lace. It was one of her favorite dresses that the City had brought to her, and she wore it quite a lot. But then a very statuesque woman walked behind her, and the comparison was... painful.

That settled it. Rather than heading toward the fruit stands in the center of town to fill her basket with various delicious treats, she started roaming the shops instead. There were clothes stores; she'd seen them -- she'd just never gone into them before... Ah! There was one, with a very colorful scarf-y looking thing wrapped around a mannequin dressed in a bit of frothy fabric. She squinted at it. It looked like fish net. How... odd... but she was willing to try. Beauty had learned by now to keep a very wide open mind.

In she went.

The City had been thinking. During the time after the conference as Thomas, and now, after Thomas. It had been giving consideration to the things that it had learned. It had also thought much about how the death of Thomas had felt, a disturbing, horrible thing.

There was one person who had taught it the most. Who had cared enough to take Thomas in. To call Thomas a friend. The City didn't know if she intended to continue the friendship now, but it did. It had started by telling Jesse Custer about her, and that she needed to be kept safe.

Now, it had something for her, that came from it directly.

At her cottage, The City placed her gift inside, and left a note on the door:

Dear Beauty,
You have done so much for me. You gave me a place to live, and you cared for me.
I felt that this was the least that I could do. Please accept my gift. I do hope you like it.
I won't be coming home anymore, but I will always be available to you if you want to speak.

In Friendship,
Thomas.

The City Hall was chosen because it held a room within it that was big enough to accommodate the droves of people that were sure to come. Plus, being inside space, there were no worries over weather that couldn't be controlled. The people could sit and listen and not have to try to hear past traffic or wind.

Even with the late notice, everything was done well before the scheduled start time, which Thomas was proud of. He was glad that the ones who were born here weren't entirely useless without him around. They were keeping their heads together, doing what needed to be done. Of course, it also could have been the fact that they believed Thomas was who he claimed to be, and with his presence there with them, they felt better about the situation they were currently in.

Thomas looked at the stage. That's where he would be standing, talking to the people he had brought here. He had no doubts that they would be the ones with the questions, the ones who demanded answers. He was ready. He could do this.

He sat in a seat hidden by a curtain, where he could still see the stage and the rows of chairs beyond, and waited.

There was going to be a press conference. Thomas was going to have a chance to answer all their irritating questions all at once. This made him feel happy. Perhaps the first true and whole happiness that he had felt since being put inside this stupid body.

He had been staying at Beauty's home. She had given him the bed, and he hadn't known better to insist that he be the one to sleep on the blanket pile on the floor. He had, instead, just taken the bed and enjoyed it very much.

Thomas trekked his way to the little cottage from the Mayor's office. He had to walk because he didn't have the money to pay for a cab, and wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to be in one again anyway. The night had fallen on his way, and he was enjoying it, despite the much cooler temperatures. Perhaps because he was so happy. Perhaps nothing could sour his mood now.

He opened the door and went inside, and sat at the little table.

The crone was still keeping hidden away, or more she wasn't becoming involved in many lives as of late. She felt stronger and stronger everyday, and she was beginning to think it time to find a certain wayward creation, to see how he was spending his time and if he had learned his lesson. Never stick her where she did not want to be. Never try to control her. Or, don't piss off the magical old woman; she could be a bit of a bitch.

Having kept something from the City's new body to find him later, she had decided it was time to do the location spell. Without the City to tap into, finding someone took a little more than just focusing. She entered the Park in order to retrieve what she needed from the cabin, but the cabin was not at all where she'd seen it last. It had become fond of a small spot surrounded by trees, and yet it did have a habit of going for a walk to stretch its legs. Either way, the crone was not in the mood to hunt for it.

She sighed softly, sending out the silent command for the cabin. Since it had come to the City, it had become more and more its own creature, and there were times the crone wanted the damn thing gone. But, the most recent events had made it more of a boon than a bane. She couldn't fault it for growing, could she?

She didn't stay in one spot; the cabin could find her even if she were on the move. She came to how people were taking the stillness as much as gather a few special ingredients. The park was one of the better places to watch.

If there were one thing anyone could say about Beauty, it was that she knew her way around books. And in a library, there was no one who could find what was needed as quickly as she -- just as long as the knowledge was contained within the book (and not one of those boxes with the clicky rat).

But when the librarian showed her the yellow book full of names and addresses and digits, even she was surprised how quickly someone could find an address. Charlie Crews. Now that the buildings weren't moving, addresses meant more than what they had in the past. Armed with her new-found knowledge and a hand-drawn map and a basket of fruit, cheese, croissants, and bordeaux on her arm, Beauty struck out one late afternoon, intent on inviting her new fruit friend on a makeshift picnic. There were still the wonders of the African horned fruit to discover.

Lightly traipsing up the winding walk to the door, Beauty was humming to herself as she knocked. A big, delighted grin spread itself across her mouth when she heard the lock turn in the door. She bounced on her slippered toes.

While much of the City struggled to adjust to the sudden normalcy of the place, Beauty found returning to a simpler life downright refreshing. It was made easier, of course, by the fact that she was wealthier than she'd been since... since her father's failing business sent them into the countryside to make a more rustic living, she realized. Beauty had hardly cared for the money she was earning from her job at the bookstore. The City, she had to admit, did a very fine job of taking care of her needs, which were few. The bookstore... She'd been there for love, nothing more. Even now, she would prefer being curled up in the back room, examining the newest shipment of books before she shelved them.

But with the City no longer providing for her daily meals, the supply of food in her cottage diminishing, she was very grateful to have the time to go shopping for the necessities. That's what led her out onto Market Street on this sunny, brisk mid-morning, all bundled in a wool coat and scarf and mittens, basket looped around one arm. The wind was a little sharp, but as she hurried toward the closest fruit stand, she wrapped the length of her hair twice around her palm, then tucked the twist under the collar of her coat. There -- that was much better!

And she had to say, as she examined the loads of fresh fruit in crates before her, the City certainly sourced from fine orchards! Picking out a couple gleaming red apples and setting them in her basket, she turned toward a crate of pears. These looked nice, too! But what were these yellow, strangely shaped fruits? She picked one up gingerly and turned it in her hand. When one looked down the back of it, it looked like a starburst. How... strange... What was it?

There used to be a stable.

No, no, that wasn't exactly right.

There used to sometimes be a stable -- and it used to appear when she wanted to spend some time with the horses that were sometimes boarded there. With all Beauty's new-found vacation time, she'd had every intention of going on long, lovely rides across the City Commons, but the stable simply wasn't appearing. It just wasn't there anymore.

Other things had changed, too. The whispers in her cottage - those invisible servants who forced clothes on her and who set out her meals and who apparently did the laundry and kept the place clean - had disappeared. At first she was glad -- but as the days passed, she found herself actually missing the strange companionship that the whispers had been. She could never quite understand them, but they ... they'd been friendly to her. They'd been kind, or at least, they tried to be very kind.

Beauty stood at the top of a rolling hill overlooking where the stable used to be, arms twisted behind her back, hands clasped together. She hoped that the horses were all right, wherever they'd gone.

Whatever the color, whatever the type, Beauty loved roses. In stories, blue roses stood for perfect or impossible love... And the author defined the impossibility. Sometimes it was distance, death or family. Sometimes it was religious obligations or a marriage that never should have been. But Beauty had never read about love turned impossible because of a city.

Wistfully staring into the bouquet of red roses (for Beauty preferred the message of red roses over that of the impossible blue) Beauty stood now in the last of three locations she visited on this night every year since... Well.

It was nothing more than a back street -- just a street. But it had also been a place where she'd seen dark things. Seen, but also had been protected from them. By the same person who led her to the library to find the end of her family. By the same person who had found her the job she so loved. The library steps and the stoop of Bookmark Books both had their own bouquets, tied by white ribbon.

She bent her knees and stooped to set the last bunch of roses at the street corner. Ah, she missed him, that strange and gentle soul that had been haunted too heavily for any single man. Wherever he was now, she dearly hoped he was happy.

"Happy Valentines Day," she said, before straightening again. Then, with hands tucked into her coat pockets, she headed back home.

Eric was annoyed after his encounter with the human who liked to stab him with silver. But even that couldn't spoil the general mood he had still at being able to walk in the sun. To see the bright day.

He found himself in the park again. This time with no particular goal in mind. He just wanted to be in the day and see the grass as green as it could be. Look at the flowers soaking up rays of energy and nourishment. See the humans playing because they were so sure no evil could touch them in such glorious conditions.

The Viking had a bit of a soft spot for daylight activities, he was discovering. So much that he saw during the night was completely different. It was like being a child again. Or a brand new vampire, seeing things for the first time with the new eyes, hearing the world with the new ears.

And there was a true freedom now. Having one less restriction placed on him. Of course, he had to share blood with Baba to achieve this, it was not a freedom that came completely free. But he was willing, and she was willing. She was willing enough to continue to share with him often, he had not had to worry about the sun once since they'd began this journey, and didn't think that he was going to have to worry about it for some time. She seemed to enjoy seeing him in the daylight as much as he enjoyed walking in it.

If he could get rid of the pesky problem with silver, he could truly be a god. Unfortunately, he saw no way around that.

Eric found a bench sitting out in the open, not covered in the shade of trees like most he passed. He sat and stretched his lengthy body, letting his head bend over the back. Soaking in sun on all his exposed flesh, much like a cat in a sunbeam.

The storm had been ungentle with Bookmark Books -- a broken window, leaves in the display cases, water soaking the carpets rolled up against the storefront -- but it could have been far worse. Beauty stayed with the store all through the first night, all through the second, and into the first morning, surviving on the coffee and biscuits that she kept in the store. But far more important to her survival, she felt, was the survival of the books that she tended. The girl took her responsibilities seriously, and she had no intention of looking at her manager and weakly explaining that the books in the first half of the store were destroyed due to flooding. No, that was exactly what she would not do.

As the last of the handy men finished pulling out the carpet and hauling off the ruined bookshelves, Beauty surveyed the stacks upon stacks of books in the far back corners of the store. It had taken quite a lot of effort and she was exhausted -- but the books were safe. After she signed what her manager had told her was a "company check" and handing the slip of paper over to the workers, she drew the closest lounge chair out from behind the intact shelves and flopped ungracefully into the cushy brown center. She'd spent so many hours in this chair, reading and dreaming and reading. Now, all she wanted to do was sit for a few minutes. She felt guilty about it (she really should be working), but she was so, so tired.

But rest wasn't in her future. As she closed her eyes, the tiny, bedraggled bell still clinging to the inner door handle gave out its chiming warning. Another worker? Or perhaps a customer? She rolled herself out of the chair, hit the floor with one knee and one foot, then finally stood. Straightening the clingy petal-pink dress that her silent servants forced herself to wear today, she pushed back her hair from her face, took a breath, and put her best foot forward.

She'd been in her cottage home in the City Park for nearly as long as the strange creatures roamed. It had been difficult for her to fail to meet her obligations at the bookstore, but her employer sent her a message shortly after she called in advising her that Bookmark Books was closed until further notice. Normally, that news would have disquieted her. But to Beauty, it was a blessed relief.

The whispering, invisible servants who set her clothing out, kept her cottage clean, and provided her meals continued to do so -- until tonight. Tonight, the whispers were quiet, and as the sun started down the curved sky, the light dinner fare decidedly did not appear on her small wooden table. Between the cracked window slats, Beauty watched how the sun sank, and asked the still air in her cottage whispered questions, and waited. And waited.

But nothing happened.

Finally, against her better judgment and with a racing heart, she slipped into her shoes and seized her money purse, and then very gently, very quietly cracked her door open. She would just have to find dinner for herself.

After Eric left her place of employment, Beauty scoured her memory for any hint of where she could seek Mssr. de Lioncourt out. Beauty had only seen the Mssr. de Lioncourt at one place: the City Opera House. Granted, she'd seen him but once, which was during the City Masquerade, but she truly didn't know enough about him to look for him any other place. She quickly convinced herself that it was there where she should look to find him.

She closed up Bookmark Books directly after the 9th chime from the grandfather clock in the back of the store. Typically, her path took her straight to her cottage deep in the City Commons -- but tonight, she dared to move deeper into the city itself. As she navigated the dark and twisting streets, she kept her head down and her arms curved around herself protectively. She still recalled the trouble that Errol had saved her from in these city streets. The thought was still unnerving. But what was even more unnerving was going even a single day more without as much knowledge as she could find about this Eric and his strange friend Red. Mssr. de Lioncourt had some of those answers. She had to try to find him.

Warm lights within the City Opera House welcomed her just as her nerve was failing. She had only taken a few steps upwards when the golden ornate doors swung open. Quickly, she sidestepped into the marble columns lining the entry up toward the doors. And she waited. And she watched.

Baba had told him to come to this book store and pick up a book for her. But that's not the only thing she'd said. She'd told him that the girl who ran the store was named Beauty. Eric was well aware of the Beauty and the Beast tale. He'd had no doubt that Baba's interest in this girl was because of that. She also told him to taste Beauty if he could. Baba wanted to know if Beauty tasted the same as she did. If she had the same kick. Eric thought that they were both aware that there was no way Beauty would be on par with Baba Yaga, not really. But he understood what she wanted.

Beauty was a story the way Baba was a story.

Just a little past dark, Eric found the store that Baba had pointed him to. It didn't make itself hard to locate, which was nice. He might have been irritated if he'd had to work for this endeavor. After all, it wasn't really anything more than an errand. He was not an errand boy. Somehow, though, he'd found himself agreeing. Maybe some curiosity about this Beauty had snuck in. Wormed it's path through his brain to the point that he'd been unable to resist. Or maybe it was just because it was Baba asking. Either way, the ease of finding the place worked in the favor of both women.

He walked through the front door and a bell rang. He'd been expecting that for some reason. And there was a smile on his face. Something that wouldn't have happened if he'd had to work for this. The place definitely smelled like books. But not the way that most book stores did. It smelled of old books. Powerful books. Books that had been around for ages. Their pages slightly yellowed and carrying the scents of their previous owners. He liked this smell.

Eric made his way leisurely toward the counter.

Charlie hadn't been avoiding the large and multifruited orchard, but something about it was bothering him. He couldn't decide if something were missing, or if something bad had happened in the beautiful orchard. He'd not bothered in talking to Ted about it because Ted didn't need to be concerned. The man had enough to worry about. Who knew looking after a cat could be so...adventurous? Not that Charlie had been too bothered by the white ball of fur, mainly because he hadn't been home for long enough periods of time. Somehow he'd even managed to sleep through the crazy attack kitty moments.

Today was a late day, and the kitty in question was actually surveying her territory. She was queen of a nice big house now. Even an orchard, but she'd yet to bother with going outside. There were still too many rooms to search when her male humans were away. The ginger, almost alpha, was good for a treat when she rubbed along his legs. Whether or not he did it to be kind or to get her to move along didn't matter. He wasn't cruel at least.

Charlie was definitely doing it to be kind. "So, Lucy Bell, do cats walk on leashes? I wouldn't ask, or put you on one, but I thought you'd like to go to the park. Ted wouldn't like it if I lost you." Even if she had her issues. "I'm also an officer of the law." Charlie paused for a moment as he was leaning down to scoop the white fluff of a cat up; were there leash laws in the City? He should probably know this.

Lucy Bell didn't fight him, even though she seemed more partial to the other human, the one who'd brought her to her new home. Charlie rubbed round her ears and scratched at her jaw and neck.

"I guess I could carry you. Do you chase mice?" Yes, Charlie was holding a conversation with a cat that didn't or couldn't talk back. "You probably could; animals don't forget how to kill even when they've got an easier life." Charlie would know. "I should know. Humans haven't stopped yet." He was currently walking to the front door and absently set her down to put his keys and a few other things in his pocket. Absently because as he was pocketing what he saw was necessary for the day, he also started to open the door. Lucy Bell saw her chance; it wasn't that this was a bad house, but who could resist an open door?

Charlie didn't curse, nor did he yell after her. He took a moment to text a note to Ted.

Cat ran out door. Will find her. Call if you want.

With that, he closed the door behind him, locked it, and went in search of a wayward kitty who had caught the scent of a fish market she had no idea existed. She wasn't the only one.